Stand Up, Stand Out
by kakashidiot
Summary: Leon is out drinking with his buddies when Count D passes by. Choices need to be made and a friendship confirmed. RandR!


**I don't own The Petshop of Horrors... nor the Count... sadly...**

**Just discovered The Petshop of Horrors. This fic is probably VERY OOC since I've ONLY SEEN 4 episodes of this amazing show...**

**If you know by any chance who I can get the rest... tell me... I'm interested in reading all 10 volumes of the manga as well...**

**LEON'S POV**

Not really YAOI - more like friendship.

* * *

Stand Out, Stand Up

As he tipped back the slightly damp, cold beer bottle, enjoying the taste of the light brew glide down his throat, Leon sighed in contentment.

_This – this is the life. to feel the warm sun on your face – a cold drink in your belly. To celebrate the long weekend with the guys… all I need is a chick and I'm good to go – although… I wonder – I wonder what HE is doing right now. The sweet shop next door looks like one of his usual haunts._

On this particularly fine day, Leon Orcott was out enjoying a long weekend with his cop pals – rookie and senior. Relaxing under the cheerful blue canvas of the _Jolly Traveler_ – a sidewalk pub surrounded on one side by a grocer's store and on the other by some sort of French sweet shop called _Bonbons and Lace_ – Leon laughed, gossiped and talked about the latest gaffe of their superior, the bad attitudes lately among the ambulance workers, the union strike coming up and the newest movements of the drug boss of the East End.

He laughed and gossiped and felt so alone.

_Perhaps_, he thought, _if I have the time, I could drop in to get the Count something – why – why am I even thinking about him now? Geez, Leon – get a grip…_

Leon wondered. The enigmatic Count D, after all, could hardly be called Leon's buddy.

_Aren't I trying to get him behind bars? _

_And since when do I even HAVE a buddy?_

_Since when did this dude mean so much to me?_

The blonde, strapping detective shook his head. It didn't really bear that much thought –

_That's the way life is, I guess – it pops gifts on us – like a damn surprise party – who am I to question what it gives – even if its something as WEIRD as the Count…._

"Check. That. Out!" hooted Alan – a thirty year veteran in the force. "An Oriental hottie!"

"Where? Where?" some random guy from the bar.

"Over there – just come out of the shop!"

"GAW! In traditional dress – those - whatchamacallits…"

"Y'mean, kimono – those thingies?"

"Kimono?"  
'That ain't no kimono – my wife has one of them things – that's silk is it?"

Leon turned to see Alan's hulk shift slightly – to reveal the slim figure of –

_Speak of the devil_, he winced, as he caught sight of Alan's smile and the cop's rough fingers on the pale chin of –

_Count D._

_Himself._

_In the flesh._

_Just come out of the shop._

_No doubt after buying some special French pastry with crème… or some sort of wine-flavored goodie…_

The pale hands with their decorative glossy pink fingernails were clenched tightly – protectively – around the blue handles of a _Bonbon_ sweet bag.

_The Count._

For once in Leon's life, he saw that the young, retiring Chinese man was disconcerted. Both gold and purple eyes shone with uncertainty and a small amount of fear.

"Please –" D said, softly.

But the gentle tilt of his head, the slight bow and fake demure smile, was merely a pleasantry – not an invitation.

Leon knew better.

Alan didn't.

"Now, now… we're not gonna hurtcha! Just a drink, honey, 'kay? Right here, in the open… we've been drinking a little – but no ladies as of yet, y'see?"

The tall cop put a protective arm around the Count who shrunk away and glared from behind his long black hair.

"I'm rather busy," the Count said stiffly.

"You can't stay for a minute?"

"Well, n-"

Before, he could voice anything, the Count was hustled into a chair, which he sat in out of courtesy and no small amount of shock.

"Bad choice, Cap'n," laughed one guy. "Got nothing on her."

"Them ladies bind themselves don't they?"

"It's not ALL about tits gennelman!"

Leon snorted into his drink.

_If the situation wasn't so dire for the Count, I'd laugh it up… still…_

"Guys," he called from his corner. "Leave'm alone."

Leon sighed as he recognized how drunk he must sound.

"Why? You want her for yourself?" asked Alan with a leer.

The Count twisted around in surprise mixed politely with relief.

"Mr. Detective!"

"Count D. Been awhile, eh?" Leon bent down.

D drew back ever so slightly at the whiff of alcohol blown in his direction.

"Count who?" asked Alan.

"Count D. He's the owner of a pet shop in Chinatown. My precinct, sort of. I've had a couple of run-ins with him over some murder cases."

"He?"

The bar fell quiet. The Count surveyed the scuffed table top, his blue sweeties bag and his pink fingernails. Leon sighed.

"Yes. He. Unless you go in for that kind of thing, Alan, I suggest you leave him alone."

A couple of snickers broke out as Alan shoved his chair as far away from the Count as possible.

"I'm sorry," the Count smiled politely, his pink-nailed fingers fiddled with the fancy button on his black robe's collar. "I was just coming by to get some sweets at _Bonbon_… I never knew I'd meet you here, Mr. Detective."

Leon plunked himself down opposite, relieved that the Count didn't seem to put out.

"I'm even more surprised about you being here – this isn't a normal journey for you…"

"Well… no…." D hesitated, dipping his head. "I normally send an errand boy – but unfortunately, he's ill…"

There was a pause.

Alan just stared.

"Leon. He's a fag."

"Pardon?" asked the Count sedately, as he rose to his feet. "I don't understand…"

"Leon."

"Alan. Let it go. Their ways are different."  
"Different? You call that 'different'? He's a freak."

All the men laughed as the Count bent down and picked up his little bag.

"Stop calling him that! It's not true."

"I really must go," the Count smiled, his heavily made up lips smiled gently at the crowd of inebriated men. "Thank you for your offer." He bowed and walked ever so softly out, carefully making his way out from under the blue canvas and onto the street.

Leon, watching his back, watching the black robe (complete with sakura petal embroidery) disappear into the mass of t-shirts, mini-skirts, khakis, suits, sweatpants and tear-aways.

_How can somebody so different become so close to me?_

"So… how often did you say you saw him?" laughed Alan.

"Every now and then," Leon said softly. "I think he's up to something with that pet shop of his – but I haven't found out what – yet…."  
"Maybe he's got a gay bar in his basement," suggested another.

"Or maybe – MAYBE – he runs some sort of a male brothel!"

"Or imports Chinese boys for the slave industry…"

"Or sells those aphrodisiacs –"

"Or some sort of gender-changing drugs…"

"Guys, guys! Stop you're killing me!"

Leon found his feet and swayed out the door.

"Hey, where're you going?"

"Home. I need to take a rest."

"As long as you don't find your home in that little fag's bed!"

"Haahahaaa!"

He could still hear their derisive laughter several hours after. Leon found his way home and after ingesting a small amount of food to help detox himself – as well as taking a cold shower, the cop discovered that whatever amount of alcohol he had taken, was well on its way out of his system.

As evening fell, he found his way to the Pet Shop – and opening the doors, found the Count sitting there in his favorite chair.

_As always._

The tea was set before him – brown liquid glinting darkly in the special rounded black cups with the traceries of dragons on the sides. The tray was set out with the pot. Incense – heavy and sweet smelling – hovered in the air. Dimly lit and silent, the room reminded the cop as always of a tomb – a tomb for the Pharoahs – and as luxurious, he supposed.

But the Count was sitting there – still.

For a moment, Leon thought he was looking at a corpse.

"Count?" he asked tentatively.

There was a silence, then slowly the Chinese man's head turned and two dead eyes stared at Leon. Then they closed as the lips turned upward in the semblance of a smile.

"Mr. Detective… I wasn't – expecting… you…"

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Is there anything I can – help – you with?" asked the Count tentatively.

"N-nnnooo…."

"There isn't a case for you to practice your wild instincts on?"

"No – I just – wanted to talk…"

"Ah…"

There was another pause.

"Would you like some tea?" asked the Count, polite as ever.

"Sure," shrugged Leon as he sat down.

The Count leaned forward – but as his hands touched the teapot, he sighed.

"Oh dear, it's gotten cold…"

"Cold?"

_Cold._

_He never wastes tea. He's acting odd – well… he's always acting freaky – but he's acting more weird than usual…_

_Maybe…_

Leon sat there in heavy thought. Somewhere the sounds of china and movement in another (darker) room further in the shop told him the Count was preparing another pot of tea. The rustle of fabrics announced the Count's reappearance – and while the two men waited, they sat there, both deep in their own thoughts.

_Maybe…_

Leon's instincts told him it began that afternoon.

_He's a fag._

_He's a freak._

He could still hear Alan's voice in his head.

_Maybe he can still hear Alan's voice in his head, too._

_Maybe…_

"What Alan said to you today…"

The Count stiffened.

"It's nothing…" he sniffed. "Just a man who had too much to drink…"

"What he said was wrong of him to say. Alan never met you – but he was scared of being labeled gay so that's why he went so ballistic about it."

"Ballistic?"

"Yeah. He gets mean when he gets scared," Leon nodded.

"I see."

The Count obviously didn't see at all. As if summoned, dark-haired man rose and disappeared into the room and after several minutes, reappeared with a whole new tea service (the old one had been hauled away already) and a small plate for the goodies which were now revealed from their case in the blue _Bonbon_ bag.

Sighing, the Count paused in thought over the pastries – his delicate fingers, pushing the cream puffs into an eye-catching pattern.

"They got crushed."

"What?" asked Leon.

"The cream puffs got a little crushed…"

The Count sounded sad and a little miffed.

"I don't think that's what you should be worried about…" Leon muttered.

Leon's sharp eyes caught the jaded upward twist to D's mouth.

"What else is there to worry over? I am different. I am a – a – freak – as you American's say, Mr. Detective. There are no illusions over what I am on my part."

"You aren't a freak, D. No one has the right to call you that, least of all Alan, who's had three wives and is busy marrying his fourth who happens to be a lap dancer from a really low dive…"

"Oh." D dipped his head in what seemed to be embarrassment. "I see."

"So don't get all dejected about comments like that."

"I'm not dejected."

"Yes you were – you were sitting there letting your precious tea get cold and you weren't even eating your newly bought sweeties."

"I was thinking…"

"My ass! You were thinking all right – and getting depressed because you're so down on yourself all the time."

"But you yourself think –"

Leon sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"D. I think you're up to something weird. But – I have respect for you – and I think – that – well – I think that we've become good friends – like partners…. Ah geez! That sounds pathetic… why am I even saying this?"

Leon rolled his eyes.

"What I mean to say – we're friends. At least – I think we are – until I can prove you're on the wrong side of the law – but that's professional interest – I'm talking about personal interest here – and I don't think you're weird or faggy or whatever – okay – I'll admit your nail polish and lipstick is scary at times and I think opening a window in here every now and then wouldn't hurt – and maybe wearing pants would –"

"Thank you," D said softly.

"EH? Oh!" Leon said uncertainly at the sight of a genuine smile on the Count's face –

_The first one in a LONG time._

"You're welcome."

"I think, Mr. Detective. The same thing."

"You do?"  
"Yes?"

"Despite all of your objectionable qualities –"  
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"  
"- like your humanity – I must admit your wild instincts, leonine tenacity and courageous obstinacy is very endearing…"

"Hey… you're scaring me… don't hit on me!"  
"Hit on you? I don't think I'd kill you –"

"That's not what I meant – hey! What do you mean 'don't think' – that means there's a possibility…"

"There's a possibility for everything… hmmmmm…"

"Hey! Hey! Stop smiling like that! Count! You're creeping me out…"

"You ARE amusing, Mr. Detective…"

"And what are you?"

"You tell me…"

"Give me time!"


End file.
